


In The Bleak Midwinter

by holyhael



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyhael/pseuds/holyhael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team Free Will have something of a holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Bleak Midwinter

As Dean drove up to the cabin, he could tell immediately that something was amiss. Just a gut feeling gripping and squeezing where his burger was having difficulty digesting properly. He grabbed for his gun in the same breath he switched the ignition off and stepped out of the car. As he approached the door with caution (and his gun), he overheard voices from within. They didn’t sound angry, not annoyed, not violent. That could mean any number of things, though.  
  
He barged in with his gun drawn and a stance to shoot. As his eyes focussed, Dean felt like an idiot. There was no threat, no anything but his brother and angel and a sprig of parsley between them.  
  
Sam was the first to raise his voice. “Uh, Dean?”  
  
Feeling the embarrassment exploding inside of him and turning his cheeks bright colors, Dean tucked the gun back in his pants. “Sorry.” To keep the attention off of him and his mishap, Dean pointed at the bit of green in Sam’s grasp. “What’s with the shubbery?”  
  
“It’s, um…” Sam looked to Cas as if expecting him to proffer an explanation, but when the angel just stood stock still and watched Dean in that unrelenting way of his, Sam went on with, “Cas, why don’t you explain?”  
  
“Sam said it is tradition,” Cas rumbled, “to put this in doorways during the holiday season.”  
  
Dean felt his eyes widen as he slid his eyes over to Sam. His fucking brother. That traitor! The son of a bitch looked smug, even, barely suppressing that grin from eating his whole face, and as his gaze locked with Dean’s, it grew even more uncontrollable.  
  
As much as the idea of being caught under a bundle of mistletoe with Cas was entertaining and pleasing, Dean was not going to have any of it. Cas was an angel, for starters. Dean didn’t deserve that sort, and Cas could definitely do better than a fucked up lowlife like Dean.  
  
“Uh huh, and did Sam say why?”  
  
“No, he was just getting to that,” Cas said. “I asked him why anybody would like to have a parasitic in their home.”  
  
“When two people are standing beneath the mistletoe,” Sam explained, “They’re supposed to kiss.”  
  
Cas just sort of looked confused. “Why?”  
  
“It’s just a stupid tradition, Cas,” Dean interceded, although he was ignored.  
  
The angel had taken the twig of mistletoe from Sam, and he was eyeing it with curiosity and thought. The silence stretched beyond comfort. At last, Sam said, “Hey, could you go out on a dinner run? I’m starved.”  
  
“Seriously, dude? I just came in.” Sam, unfortunately for Dean, turned on his huge puppy eyes that Dean always caved for. With a sigh, Dean gave up. “Fine. But you’re not going to bitch when I get you a greasy burger. All that rabbit food can’t be healthy for you.”  
  
As he was retrieving his keys from his pocket, Cas piped up, “May I accompany you?”  
  
“Uh…” Cas wanted to come? Why? Dean frowned, although Cas coming with him wasn’t a bad thing in the least. “Yeah, of course.”  
  
The angel looked happy as can be, beaming practically as he stepped around Sam and toward the doorway with his gaze locked on Dean’s. Dean was frozen beneath that stare with his breath caught in his throat. Even when Cas leaned in dangerously close, even when he had crossed any faded personal space lines, Dean couldn’t move, maybe wouldn’t, because he was interested in what the angel was doing, in why he was suddenly in his face and… oh, this was nice. Cas’ lip was stuck between Dean’s, and his in Cas’. There was a flame of warmth burning Dean’s mouth in those brief seconds where Cas was his, where he was Cas’. All too soon, Cas was the one to break the kiss, and he did it with a pleased smile.  
  
“Wha- what was that for?” Dean sputtered.  
  
Cas turned his fond eyes upwards for just a moment. Dean followed his gaze and saw… mistletoe. Somehow, Cas had mojo’d the foliage to fix itself above the door. His cheeks blazed.  
  
“Let’s get dinner.” And with that, Cas was walking away, his trenchcoat flying out behind him. It took Dean a few moments - moments where he could hear Sam’s barely suppressed giggling - but he soon got the memo to move and follow the angel.  
  
+  
  
“Hey, do you think they have ‘angel’s first Christmas’ cards?” Dean joked as they passed the small-town equivalent of Hallmark. He still felt warm despite the snow sprinkling down on them. “You know, like ‘baby’s first Christmas’?”  
  
At his side, Cas growled “This is hardly my first Christmas, Dean. I’ve been in existence for far longer than -”  
  
“Yeah, I get it, longer than my puny human brain can ever hope to comprehend, yada yada.” When Cas only glared, Dean elbowed him lightly and said, “It’s your first Christmas with us, so…”  
  
How does he even continue that thought?  _So, I’m really glad you can spend it with us? So, I really liked kissing you, let’s do it again?_  Dean settled with a shrug as they encountered a cafe promoting “THE BEST PUMPKIN PIE EVER” for a cheap, cheap price, and while pumpkin wasn’t Dean’s favorite flavor ever, pie was pie and pie was delicious. The warmth of the cafe immediately soothed and melted the small smattering of snowflakes that had nested in their hair, on their coats, in the short walk from the parking lot. The cafe also smelled really good. No, really good would be an understatement; it was aromatic, beatific, flawless, the blend of spice and sweet and coffee stunning Dean’s senses into an oblivion oh so heavenly. As he inhaled deeply, he caught Cas’ eyes on him again. There was something under the scrutiny, something Dean couldn’t identify, but it only added to the warmth of the cafe by burrowing deep into his chest and creating a campsite there, tents, sleeping bags, and everything.  
  
“Ah, sweet, hipster teen coffee shops. Is there anything like it? Doesn’t it smell like heaven?” He smiled at Cas, who, of course, had to be his literal self.  
  
“Heaven doesn’t have a particular smell. An individual soul’s heaven may, but as a whole heaven does not. Our true forms do not have a sense of smell.”  
  
“Hey, cowboy, it’s just an expression. You know: it smells good, it smells like heaven. One and the same.” He looked over at his angel buddy, considering. “Why no sense of smell? Seems kind of inconvenient.”  
  
Castiel’s shoulders relaxed more as he explained, not that Dean really heard the words (something about angels having other senses to make up for it and more yada yada). Whether it was the cafe’s atmosphere or how he felt more at ease explaining things to Dean the Idiot, Dean didn’t know, but he wanted it to stay.  
  
“You can smell this, though, right?” Dean asked once Cas finished his lesson. He snatched one of the miniature samples of hot chocolate from the counter and waved it beneath Cas’ nose.  
  
The angel looked perplexed as to why he was being tried, but he was inhaling and responding, “Of course.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“And what?”  
  
“Doesn’t it smell like a liquid orgasm?” Immediately, Dean regretted his choice of words.  _Orgasm? Really? Are you going to bring that up with the guy who you just stood on homeplate for?_  Cas, however, didn’t notice anything odd with his diction. He opened his mouth, but before he could say that no, this beverage does not smell like sexual pleasure in a state of matter it is physically incapable of taking form in, Dean pushed the sample cup to Cas’ lips. “Taste,” he commanded.  
  
Hesitantly, Cas took the cup between his fingers, holding onto Dean’s gaze with those piercing eyes of his for a long moment’s while before his scrutiny fell into the hot chocolate as if suspicious of its motives. Eventually, though, he did bring the petite sample to his lips, tilted it back, and swallowed like a shot. He made a small noise of enjoyment in the back of his throat that Dean definitely didn’t object to.  
  
“I take it you like it then?” Dean asked with a grin. He motioned to the smiling barista for two regular sized hot cocoas and some pie, and she told him to wait, the pie would be out shortly.  
  
“It was a… liquid orgasm,” Cas allowed with a small smile. It was one of his largest anyway, and Dean’s own smile widened in response.  
  
“Not that you know what a real orgasm is like,” Dean said, and instantly he was kicking himself for it. Really, he ought to invest in a filter to sort out inappropriate words before they saw the light.  
  
Nonetheless, his comment was supposed to be offhand, but Cas just stared at him for a moment before looking away, out the window to where tourists abundant were snapping photos and complaining about the cold. Dean’s eyebrows shot to the ceiling and his jaw dropped. “You do! You sly dog. I didn’t think you had it in you. Who’s the lucky lady?” (Dean fought the jealousy that brewed in his gut. How long ago did this happen? Who did it happen with? Why hadn’t Cas told him? Was it with Meg? That bitch. If Dean ever saw her again, she’d be begging for her merciful death).  
  
Cas met his eyes momentarily and then looked away again. Evasive. Embarrassed. At last, Cas mumbled, “There was no ‘lucky lady’.”  
  
“Oh. Oh. Man, then. Who was he? Or was it one of your angel buddies?”  
  
“There was no one,” Cas growled.  
  
Dean didn’t think he should be so taken aback. Cas was more introverted anyway, and he failed at even paying for sex that was right in his lap, so really there’s no reason for surprise. “Oh.” Dean exhaled heavily through his nose, a quiet sort of laugh, and smirked at Cas, who regarded him embarrassingly. “Then you don’t know, dude. It’s not half as good alone as it is with someone else.” Really. Filter. Need. Now Cas was going to ask about sex and Dean wasn’t going to be able to explain, not to the guy whose pants he wanted inside of.  
  
Right on time, the barista called their order, flashing them a trademark smile taught to everyone in the food/service business. Dean noticed Cas’ eyes trailing after her and snapped his fingers in the angel’s face.  
  
“Hey! Don’t be thinking about having sex with everything that moves, okay?” ( _Just think about sex with me, maybe_ ). “You’ll be worse than Tiger Woods.”  
  
Cas’ head tilted to the side, and damn it if that wasn’t the most adorable thing on earth. To hide the sudden flutter of butterflies assaulting his intestines, Dean picked up his steaming cup and took a scalding sip. Unfortunately, the butterflies remained unscorched and undeterred.  
  
“He’s a golfer who slept around,” Dean explained. “A lot.” Cas nodded. “Come on, let’s sit down.”  
  
He guided Cas to the seating area. However, this being a popular hipster cafe, all the regular seats were taken. All that remained was a opulent, plushy looking armchair fit for lovebirds and sleepy persons alike. Well, why not? They sat together, thigh to thigh, Cas still and unsure, Dean trying to get as comfortable as possible by leaning back and draping one arm across the upholstery.  
  
“Here, relax.” Dean pulled Cas by the collar deeper into the chair so he was resting on Dean’s arm. Second by second, Cas did soften. Dean smiled into his cocoa.  
  
So there they sat, together, comfortably, sort of squished but neither of them minding.  
  
They lapsed into a silence that, like many before it, did not feel uncomfortable. Dean was okay with not saying anything, and Cas was too. So they looked out the window, drank their hot cocoa, and, in Dean’s case, fantasized about kissing that led to pillows and skin and knees. When the barista piped up that the pie was ready, neither Dean no Cas took any initiative to leave. The pie could wait.  
  
+  
  
The snow was falling at nearly blizzard strength when the finished their hot cocoas. Dean had realized long ago that they probably should have returned to the cabin, not just because Sam was going to complain louder the longer they took, but because, while his baby was a kick ass car, she could only take so much frozen precipitation before she crashed.  
  
“Ah, fuck.” Dean began to brush the snow that collected on the Impala with his hand after passing Cas their take-home bag. This was why he hated Rufus’ cabin’s locale. Why would anybody in their right mind station a safe house at the elbow of the Rockies?  
  
“What’s the matter, Dean?” asked Cas. His eyebrows knit together, his head canted to the side slightly as Dean bent to the ground.  
  
“The matter is,” Dean explained, clearing the space behind the tires, “The Impala can’t take the snow without snow tires or chains. Which we don’t have.” It actually pained Dean to talk about his baby as if she were incompetent, even at this sole thing. “It’s going to be a bitch getting back to the cabin.”  
  
Cas nodded and smiled lightly. “And here I always thought the Impala could do anything.”  
  
“You sure know how to sweet talk ‘em, don’t you, Cas?” He slyly looked up from the ground, squinting through the flurry. Some flakes docked on his eyelashes, so Dean had to turn back to his task quickly. When he was grudgingly satisfied with his job, he stood up, brushing the snow from his knees. “Alright, climb in.”  
  
She starts fine, she plays Zeppelin fine, but the wheels can’t find purchase on the icy, snowy road, and they spin uselessly with each push Dean puts on the gas.  
  
“Son of a bitch!” He throws himself out to clear more snow. Cas follows in a less explosive manner.  
  
“Dean.”  
  
“What, Cas,” Dean all but growls. He hates the fucking snow. It did this to his baby. And now he’s going to have to wait until the snow thaws to go back to the cabin, or he could shovel out the hundreds or so dollars for a set of fitting snow tires or chains. Fucking ace. He kicked the snow in indignation.  
  
Cas laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, immediately mollifying him. “Let me take care of it.”  
  
“Wha-?”  
  
He couldn’t get out another syllable before Cas had two fingers to his forehead, his other hand waving to the Impala. The ground dissolved beneath his feet in a manner that was all too familiar and not entirely wanted. Something went awry, though, he could tell after a second too long lost in limbo. He knew Cas was beside him; he still felt that oven heat he was giving off. In fact, he was incalescent. His temperature increased with every pounding millisecond they were in oblivion. Dean tried to grab onto him. He caught a sleeve wrapped around an arm, stiff and intractable.  
  
“Cas!” he tried to yell, but couldn’t.  
  
Suddenly, he had two feet in cold snow and was gripping Cas hard enough to bruise if he’d been human. Cas looked around weakly, seemingly satisfied, and slurred, “Good.” Then he promptly collapsed, nothing but Dean’s clutch on him to keep him from dropping to the ground.  
  
Dean looked around to find someone to help, but when he cast his eyes around, he realized he was at the cabin and the Impala was right next to him. Realization struck Dean dumb for about one second before he was shouting for Sam.  
  
“What is it?” the moose called as he banged the door open. Immediately, his eyes widened, and he grabbed Cas’ other arm to carry him back inside. “What happened?”  
  
“Cas zapped us from the cafe,” Dean explained. Once they’d (carefully) dropped the passed out angel onto the couch, Dean said, “The Impala wouldn’t move because of the snow, so he decided to Wink us back.” Cas was still immobile. Dean’s chest clenched. “Stupid son of a bitch.”  
  
He didn’t doubt Cas’ holy healing abilities, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried as fuck. He checked for a pulse - did angels have pulses? a quick check said yes - opened his eyes to check pupils, because it’s what he’d do for a human. As he cracked open the second lifelessly blue eye, Cas was coughing and flinching to the waking world. Dean breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
Cas looked from brother to brother, his struggle to come back to consciousness obvious. Then, he finally settled on Dean with a small twitch of lips. “I did it.”  
  
+  
  
When he awoke, Cas requested one thing and one thing only: cocoa powder and sugar dissolved in heated milk and water. This Dean could do. It probably wouldn’t be as deific as the cafe’s, but he could try.  
  
Thankfully, they were stocked up on some cheap ass name brand cocoa mix, although when Dean licked his finger, dipped it in, and tasted it, it tasted like the most vile crap ever. Was this what that barista used for their drinks? Dean found it hard to believe, but he couldn’t find any other chocolate things in the pantry. Damn Sam’s Healthy Habits schtick.  
  
He remembered from his days with Lisa that she had this whole tub of this detoxing chai mix or whatever. Sometimes he’d fix it for her, and that just meant spading a heaping spoon of powder into a mug of warm water. “Add the water first,” she told him after the first time. She explained that if you don’t, then the granules won’t blend correctly. With this knowledge, Dean dosed the first mug he found - it said “Happy X-Mas, Motherfuckers” apropos Rufus - with some of the chocolate powder, then heaped a shitload of sugar on top. Hopefully, that would make the dry grit taste more edible.  
  
Rummaging through the pantry, Dean stumbled upon a vial of vanilla, cinnamon, and even some candy canes that appeared harmless enough. He added a small spoonful of the cinnamon and vanilla to the mini-pyramid in the mug, poured half a cup of boiling water in, spiked it with milk, and let it rotate around the turntable in the health-code-violation microwave. When it beeped, the hot chocolate bubbling slightly, Dean retrieved it, unwrapped a sticky candy cane to have waving inside, and went to Cas’ side.  
  
He was barely holding on it looked like. Laying against the back of the couch, he pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, eyes shut tight. The sight nearly broke Dean’s heart, had him nearly drop the molten lava hot chocolate he’d worked so hard on. With a small nudge, Dean plopped right down next to Cas, reminiscent of their arrangement in the cafe. Cas blinked open his eyes to rest on Dean as he passed over the scalding mug. Angels could take high temperatures, right? The answer was yes. Cas gingerly took the mug - ugh, it was nearly too full - and held it on his chest.  
  
“Uh, hopefully I didn’t do too bad,” Dean apologized. Oh, fuck, he should have taste tested it first. God, he’s an idiot. His cheeks flamed up as he watched Cas toy around with the candy cane.  
  
“It’s fine, Dean.”  
  
Dean still had doubts, but Cas brought the mug to his lips and took a tentative sip anyway. Immediately, his face screwed up in a grimace and he was lowering the mug.  
  
“What is it?” Of course he’d made it wrong. Dean could barely fix the world, let alone a mug of hot chocolate.  
  
“It is…” As Cas fought for the words, he stupidly took another sip. “You added too much cinnamon.”  
  
From the table where he was unhelpfully doing research (even though they were taking a much needed break), Sam huffed. Dean glared at him. He dared him to do better, although Sam probably could. He could probably whip up a cup to rival the cafe’s.  
  
Cas pulled the candy cane from the mug curiously. The end was dripping shitty hot chocolate in his lap, so he lifted it to his mouth and sucked off the revolting liquid. With a gasp, he pulled it away. “What’s this?”  
  
“It’s a candy cane,” Dean replied, watching Cas place the stick back on his tongue and savor the taste with a happy smile. The hot chocolate incident mostly forgotten in the light of Cas’ enjoyment of peppermint canes, Dean grinned. “You like that, don’t you?”  
  
He hadn’t meant to sound so dirty-awful-cliche porn film, but Cas was too rapt in the candy cane to notice the Pizza Man had said it. His eyes closed as he drew the swirly stick in and out of his mouth. Fuck, Cas was probably unaware of the things those noises he was making were doing to Dean, that movement. Dean imagined his dick replacing the thin cane and oh god. He needed to stop that thought right now. Brother in the room.  
  
(Would Cas want that? Dean hoped so, what with the kiss earlier, that he wanted Dean as much as Dean wanted him. He hoped that wasn’t a fluke in understanding, that Cas really did understand what displays of affection like lingering kisses meant. Who knew what went on in that angelic head of his?)  
  
“There’s a whole box of those in the kitchen,” Dean mentioned. Cas just nodded. “In case you want to go on another Famine binge again.”  
  
“I would like that very much.”  
  
And how could Dean resist that smile, that smear of carmine on those lips? He crossed the space between them to kiss him again. Cas tasted like peppermint and horrible hot chocolate, and oh god was peppermint a kink or something? Could Dean just feed the angel candy canes till he bursted to keep that flavor in their kisses? Feel that tingle on his cock while the angel stood on his knees? Oh god was Dean in trouble.  
  
“There’s no mistletoe,” Cas mentioned when they broke apart.  
  
Dean smirked. “So?” And he kissed him again.


End file.
